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Description
Epiphany

Awake now and leaning
                                   into my own
shadow,
a dim moment passing,
                                   another beginning
slow and slowly unfinished
                                    as I lean a bit
more
toward the hallway, imagining
                                    the doors,
creating sounds – a faucet
                                    dripping,
thermostat chatter – waiting
                                    all the rest
of night
for no noise to return
                                    as proof of
something,

wondering what it’d be worth
                                    to reach
for my glasses, until
                                    I’m settled
upon
by a glimpse of something –
                                    a grandmother’s
shawl
ghost-like on a limb and then
                                    pitching
in the surf,
skysung fingers pushing
                                    at an open widow
though she is already gone –

then a child in a stand of ash,
                                    waiting, rocks
around him
wet with pain,
                                    explaining
the color of ebb tide –
                                    a kiss that no one will
say they saw,

and the most surprising part –
                                    that suddenly
this would turn my thoughts to fish
                                    bones. They’re
symbolic.
They swim without flesh.
                                     Already they are
the color of tomorrow.

And here we are sharing an epiphany,
you and I,
                                    both knowing.

Description
Epiphany

Awake now and leaning
                                   into my own
shadow,
a dim moment passing,
                                   another beginning
slow and slowly unfinished
                                    as I lean a bit
more
toward the hallway, imagining
                                    the doors,
creating sounds – a faucet
                                    dripping,
thermostat chatter – waiting
                                    all the rest
of night
for no noise to return
                                    as proof of
something,

wondering what it’d be worth
                                    to reach
for my glasses, until
                                    I’m settled
upon
by a glimpse of something –
                                    a grandmother’s
shawl
ghost-like on a limb and then
                                    pitching
in the surf,
skysung fingers pushing
                                    at an open widow
though she is already gone –

then a child in a stand of ash,
                                    waiting, rocks
around him
wet with pain,
                                    explaining
the color of ebb tide –
                                    a kiss that no one will
say they saw,

and the most surprising part –
                                    that suddenly
this would turn my thoughts to fish
                                    bones. They’re
symbolic.
They swim without flesh.
                                     Already they are
the color of tomorrow.

And here we are sharing an epiphany,
you and I,
                                    both knowing.